


Caught Between

by Major



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Crushes, Denial of Feelings, Humor, M/M, Oblivious Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 20:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16145051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Major/pseuds/Major
Summary: Facts:1) Schmitt is straight.2) He is NOT into Nico Kim.3) He is getting really good at lying to himself.





	Caught Between

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after 15x02 'Broken Together'. Way too early to tell where these two are going to go on the show (if anywhere), but I'm already sold.

Schmitt wasn't gay.  He was just trapped in an elevator with Dr. Kim and experiencing an elevated pulse, clammy palms, and chest pressure not unlike a fist grabbing his heart and giving it a tight squeeze.  That could just as easily mean he was on the brink of a myocardial infarction, and he was totally fine with having a heart attack.  Survival rates were much higher than people figured, and he would totally recover from a brief encounter with death with minimal whining if it meant—

"You okay?" Dr. Kim asked.

Schmitt jumped.  "Hm?  Yeah.  Me?  Yes.  I am.  Okay, I mean.  Yeah."

He squeezed his eyes shut as the elevator rose up another floor, one more ding closer to freedom.

Yep.  He would definitely take a heart attack if it meant he didn't humiliate himself in front of stud new doctors (no! not stud, stud was the wrong word, stud was a fluke of his subconscious and not at all what he meant to think at all).

It didn't have to mean anything.  So Dr. Kim bought him a drink and maybe his hand lingered on his a little bit longer than strictly necessary—so what?  Then there was that wink, but surgeons had egos.  Surgeons winked.  Surgeons that definitely weren't studs winked at four-eyed intern zeroes, because it made them feel big and better and studly.  Even when they weren't.  It didn't mean he was attracted to him—history showed how unlikely that was in regards to himself—nor did it make him interested.  He was a basement dwelling awkward geek with enough self-awareness to know that his profile didn't do much head turning.  Especially heads attached to bodies that were nine or ten miles out of his league.  And _whoa_ , when did he start categorizing men in leagues?

There were no guy leagues.  Guys were just guys, and Dr. Kim was just... watching him intently from the other side of the elevator.  Schmitt's pulse took off like a prize horse at the Kentucky Derby.  Heart failure was imminent, obviously, which was very good and preferable to the alternative: a latent gay crush on a stud surgeon twenty miles out of his league.

"What case are you working on?"

"Huh?  Me?"

They were the only two in the otherwise empty elevator.  Schmitt didn't need to be amazing with words, but he needed to be better than this.  A wisp of a smile, barely there and gone, came and went from Dr. Kim's lips.  The flush across Schmitt's face was indicative of an approaching cold sweat and good ol' fashioned, welcome death—not red-faced embarrassment.  Medically treatable and not emotionally scarring.

"Uh, no case.  Webber has me doing scut in The Pit.  It's been an exhilarating morning."  He pushed his glasses back up his nose and cast a nervous, wry smile his way.

The elevator doors slid open.

"If that's what passes for exhilaration around here, I'll have to get you on my service."  Kim leaned in close, and Schmitt realized it wasn't a horse in his chest; it was a unicorn, a stampede of unicorns doing weird and fantastical things across the racetrack in his heart.  "I think I can show you a good time."

Schmitt sputtered but couldn't remember English well enough to form coherent words before Kim walked out to perform orthopedic miracles, warp women's vision into slow motion when he entered rooms, and confuse self-identifying straight nerds into questioning the historical significance of their teenaged fixation on Jennifer Love Hewitt.

His mind was just worn out after doing menial tasks all morning.  No identity crisis to see there.  Just a silly little, tiny implosion of everything he thought he understood about himself.  Yep...  No big deal at all.

****

Lunch came around without any major disasters either caused or worsened by him, but Fate tempted him towards his normal fumbling pattern of failing at basic life when a tray was set down next to his at the table where he was sitting alone outside.  He nearly choked on his juice box but got away with only a stab of his straw to the roof of his mouth when he looked up to see Dr. Kim taking a seat beside him.

"Hey."

Schmitt could do this.  He could do words.  Whether he could do words without saying aloud something stupid like 'do words' was another question altogether.

"Hi... ello.  Hello, I mean.  Obviously.  Hi-ello is nothing."

Kim smiled.  It wasn't a mocking one at least.  Karev's smiles were like scalpels.  Schmitt walked away from them and tried to hold his spirits up from the vivisection they endured.  Dr. Kim's smile didn't cut so much as warm.  Which spoke to his comparative friendliness.  And nothing more.

Kim picked the fresh chocolate chip cookie in the paper wrapper off of his tray and pushed it over to him across the table without comment.  Schmitt looked down at the offering as he had the beer he'd bought him the other night at the bar, a mix of confusion and gratitude—but mostly confusion.

"For me?"

Kim let the gesture speak for itself and instead asked, "You still on scut?"

He'd been doing sutures and running to the lab all morning and nodded.

Kim popped the cap on his soda and took a long drink; Schmitt did not notice the lean lines of his throat over every swallow or have to shake himself from focusing on his lips when he pulled the can away from his mouth.  "Not anymore."

Schmitt raised his eyes up, up and away to meet his eyes, a place no safer than the lips his gaze had been trained on, because locking eyes set the team of unicorns galloping again.  It was an odd feeling to be perpetually startled by someone who hadn't done anything more offensive than dare to look in his direction.

"Hm?"

"I talked to Webber," Kim explained.  "Told him I need an intern.  He said I could have you."  He lifted his shoulder in a slow, half-shrug.  "If you don't mind being had by me."

Schmitt needed to pull his gaze away.  He needed to decline.  Thank him but excuse himself, take his tray, leave the chocolate chip treat and give those unicorns a run for their money with how quickly he left.  It was self-preservation.  There were giant signs in his mind bordered by flashing lights and painted in all caps: RUN.

But he didn't look away, and the rest of the plan failed without that first step to sever the hold Kim had on him with the ease of a steady glance.

"Sure," he said, quieter than he meant and cleared his throat.  "Yeah.  Sounds like fun.  You know, us.  Working together," he added quickly.

"I think so too."

Schmitt stared down at his tray and picked up the chocolate chip cookie.  He hadn't been hungry for one when he came out there, but it would have been a shame to turn down something sweet just because it was unexpected.

"So what's the case?" he asked and took a bite.

Subtle amusement brightened Kim's eyes as Schmitt tried to stop the smear of melted chocolate chips and catch the crumbs breaking messily down his chin.

"I think you're going to love it."  He passed Schmitt a napkin, and their fingers brushed as he took it.  The sweet flutter from the light touch threw Schmitt back into a swirl of confusion—and maybe gave him a shock of a little, very slight, hardly noticeable (total, absolute, major) streak of exhilaration.

Whatever the case was, he agreed that there was a very good chance that he was going to love it.


End file.
